


Mirror

by GILDED_MOMENTS



Category: The Boys (TV 2019)
Genre: Male Solo, Masturbation, Morning Routines, Narcissism, Other, Self Confidence Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:48:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27637750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GILDED_MOMENTS/pseuds/GILDED_MOMENTS
Summary: Just a normal morning behind closed doors for John, now that he has no one to adore him or keep him company. Suffering from a lack of affection and feeling a little touch starved, we see him grant himself a little semblance of pleasure the only way that he knows how. With the only person in the world who truly matters.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 15





	Mirror

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a smutty one shot of our favorite villain getting ready in the mornings. Don’t take it too seriously. Let’s face it. You know he loves himself.

Icy blue orbs slowly rise over the length of the mirror that covered the wall. John had just risen out of bed and stumbled over to gaze upon his tired reflection. His blonde hair was disheveled from the tossing and turning of the night before. Fighting invisible demons caused by the stress of recent months. His eyes were red-rimmed from the poor quality of his sleep as of late and a light layer of stubble covered his jaw. His stomach churned slightly at the sight of his face. That was not the face of a man who won awards year after year and attended galas. That was a man who was devastated and broken.

‘Disgusting’ was the first thought that crossed his mind. He looked like dogshit. This was not The Homelander that people loved. This was a joke in his body, staring at him and making a mockery of him and everything that he stood for. 

A sigh escaped his lips as his eyes traveled lower, at least he would always have his body. That would never go away. An ivory statue of a physique cut from the finest marble, that the lithe hero did not have to work for very often. His metabolism was the most efficient in the world thanks to the scientists at Vought who engineered him. His eyes traced the small curves of his biceps and back up to the defined trapezius muscles. A muscle in his jaw twitched in silent appreciation for his own physique. 

Yes, while he may not have had the most gorgeous, perfect face in the world right now he still had his body. He felt his stomach tighten as his eyes continued to travel, a stray hand now moving hesitantly to trace where his eyes moved. They lightly traced the curved map of his tight pronounced pecs, which pushed out, kept firm from occasional feats of superhuman strength like moving buildings and boats. His nipples were hardened now, a combination of the cool air and the chill of taking in his own body. Lower still as he moved, he took extra attention to his pronounced abs, relishing the feel of them under his smooth fingers. 

Heat pooled in his stomach as the hero’s touch became heavier on his own skin. He couldn’t feel anything emotionally lately, he had nothing anymore. No one respected him. No one feared him. There was no rush. No thrill. Nothing to get him out of bed for, really. Other than that stupid fucking contract that Vought bound him to. But he did have himself. He was really at the end of the day all he needed right? Why couldn’t he at least make himself feel good? At least for a little while? 

But he did have these moments, where it was just him alone with his own perfect mirror image in the early dawn. His tongue darted out momentarily to wet dry lips and his legs winded slightly as he turned to admired the rest of his perfect figure in the light. Yes, he really was the best this sorry world had to offer wasn’t he? Ass perfectly sculpted, he flexed it slightly letting the shadows bounce off of it in the light. There wasn’t a man or woman alive with an ass who could compare to this, his free hand squeezed each lightly in affirmation of his own thoughts, other hand still resting heavily on his thigh. 

His breathing began to become ragged as he felt himself harden in response to the image in the mirror in front of him. His ivory cock slowly stirring against his thigh, a vision of masculinity. Soon the hand on his abdomen was wrapped around the growing appendage, stroking slowly as he continued to fondle his own tight ass. Soon he was at full staff and weighed heavy in his hand, the turgid flesh felt just right in his hands, and he felt his heart race as he brought his step closer to pleasure with every stroke. 

A low moan escaped his lips as his legs tightened, his entire body moving and striking poses now as he jerked his cock in front of the mirror more aggressively. His eyes never leaving his own body. His free hand roaming his body more attentively than it ever had a lover. His fingers would occasionally come up and tweak his nipples, the sharp pleasure elicitating sharp hisses from his lips. When he twisted just right, his hips would jerk forward, into his hand aggressively for a moment as he forgot himself. 

As his precum beaded at the tip of his cock, he decided to run his thumb over the tip, collecting a small drop before inserting his thumb into his mouth to taste the salty fluid on his tongue. He was no stranger to the taste of cum, but it wasn’t often he tasted his own cum and the taste of it made him groan and heightened the experience for him. He spits into the palm of his hand for additional lube and increased his urgency, needing to bring himself off finally, to that peak point of pleasure. Wanting to see this perfect man come undone before him.

It did not take long, a few more measured strokes as he gazed deep into oceanic hues and soon hips were spasming and milky white ropes were shooting across the crystal barrier between John and his mirrored counterpart. A hand shoots out to steady himself as he loses his balance slightly, the hand laying perfectly overtop it’s own on the cool glass. He’s panting and looking at the mess he’s left on the mirror. 

For a moment he contemplates cleaning it up. Maybe grabbing a warm washcloth and wiping away the signs of his morning, but why bother? Vought paid people to come and deal with this sort of shit right? They had people who kept their rooms spotless. They could come and clean this shit up. John would leave it for the fucking help. 

He straightens up, tilting his chin up, and notices the eyes of his reflection shine a little brighter….


End file.
